


his nerves along my wrist

by phalangine



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Grumpy Bones, Hero!Kirk, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10523163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: The one where Jim is a vigilante and Bones is his roommate who patches him up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from ["my hero bares his nerves"](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/my-hero-bares-his-nerves) by dylan thomas

There are some differences between Georgia and California Leonard knows he will never get used to. He's accepted this. What he can't accept- what he absolutely will not accept- is this.

"Tell me this is a prank," he begs. He's standing in front of the washing machine, the evidence unmistakable in his hands, but Leonard wants this to be a dream. He wants this to be a misunderstanding. "Tell me you aren't this guy."

His roommate hesitates, and it's all the opening Leonard's desperate minds needs to lose it completely. "You're a groupie, aren't you? Or you date girls who are? This is just a sex thing, right? Jim?"

Jim gives him a pitying look. "You know that's not it."

"No." Leonard shakes his head. "There is no way I'm living with the Captain. There is no way my life has gotten so bad that I am rooming with a goddam vigilante!"

"Bones, just listen..."

"Oh, my God," Leonard says, a memory rushing to the surface. "I patched you up!"

Jim winces, damning them both.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard arrives in Sausalito with a bag over his shoulder, a month to month lease starting tomorrow, and the promise of employment at a small local clinic. Christ knows how. Sausalito is a happy little place, not a booming city like Atlanta. All it seems to have are families in nice houses and artists.

Lord help him, Leonard can see the sort of human carnage he’ll be dealing with already.

It's late, and he knows he should have reserved a spot in a nearby hotel. He didn't, though, for one painful reason: he can't afford it. Jocelyn took more than just the planet; she got her hands on his wallet, too, and through that, his bank account. But not, he's noticed, any of his med school debts. Somehow, those are all his to bear.

He doesn't even have enough credits to pass a few hours in a bar.

So that's why, after the longest walk of his life, he finds himself standing outside the nice looking house he's going to be renting tomorrow and considering the pros and cons of breaking in. It's a surprisingly smooth house, though, with no low hanging rooftops. Even the windows don’t have ledges.

In the end, he shrugs off the flight of fancy and just uses the key. The rentor told him his roommate would be out of the city for the first week or so, so it's not as if there's anyone around to be bothered.

Still, he can't help but hold his breath as he turns the key and opens the door, and he doesn't let it out until the door swings shut behind him. There could be a silent alarm, but at least Leonard won't have to listen to anything wailing in his ear when the police come for him.

The inside of the house is as Spartan as the outside. No photos, just the sleek, impersonal lines of modern furnishings. Maybe it's to make him feel less like an intruder, but Leonard gets the feeling there's more to it than that. This doesn't have the feeling of someone packing up their photos to make room. It doesn't even feel sanitized. It's more like there was never any personality here in the first place.

It reminds Leonard an awful lot of the apartment he was renting in Atlanta just before he left. He knew he wasn't going to put down roots, so he never unpacked. He even left the stock photos in the frames. It was damn eerie then, and it's damn eerie now.

Figuring the room meant for him must be empty by now, Leonard tries all the doors he comes across until he finally gets to one that opens onto a room with stark white sheets, a blanket folded at the foot, and a note on the pillow that has his name on it.

He opens the letter and scans it quickly. The tone is warm enough as his roommate explains the quirks of the house. It's signed Jim, no surname, which is odd, but Leonard shrugs it off. He isn't about to ruffle feathers over a name.

Besides, Leonard is exhausted. He hasn't had a steady night's sleep in weeks, and once he starts work at the clinic, he doubts that will be changing. He may as well get some sleep while he can.

He's just finished brushing his teeth when something crashes in another room. He hesitates- he really isn't supposed to be here, and if it's his roommate, things could get ugly- but after a moment and another crash, he takes a breath, straightens his spine, and marches through the doorway.

It doesn't take him long to find the intruder. The man is lying on the floor in a patch of moonlight by the open window. There's blood on his... everything, and Leonard is bending down before he realizes he's doing it.

"Jesus Christ, are you even alive?" he asks, sliding his hand up one firm forearm in search of the source of the blood.

The man groans, lifting his head slowly, and that's when Leonard sees the mask.

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no." This isn't happening. "You aren't real."

The guy- the goddam Captain of the goddam Bay- lets out a low groan and rasps, "Who are you?"

"The guy whose house you just crashed into," Leonard grumbles. "Is this your blood or somebody else's?"

"Both?"

Leonard rubs at his temples. "Besides your hands, are you hurt anywhere else?" He doesn't trust anybody who wears a mask not to lie about being hurt, though, so he keeps running his hands over his first Californian patient, looking for anything that feels wrong or provokes a pain response.

"The rubdown is nice," comes the reply, which sounds suspiciously happy.

"Listen, buddy-"

"I prefer Captain-"

"Too bad. You wanna be captain, you bleed on a different man's carpet." Nothing feels wrong until Leonard gets to the hands, which are shredded. "What did you do? Punch a cheese grater?"

"Nah, just some body armor."

Biting back the angry response that that shit is armor the same way a sword is a walking stick- this isn't the first time he has encountered somebody with beat up hands from those goddam suits- Leonard sighs. "I've got a first aid kit in my bag. Don't go anywhere."

"A first aid kit? What are you, a mom?"

"Try doctor," Leonard corrects. "And if you haven't had all the sense knocked out of you, you'll stay where you are."

It takes Leonard maybe two minutes to get what he needs. When he gets back, the kitchen lights are all on and Captain Enterprise is at the sink, washing the blood off his hands.

"You do know we have police officers to fight crime, right?" Leonard asks as he comes over.

The Captain snorts but keeps his reply to a simple, "They can't do it all."

"So you figured you'd just step in. Please tell me you have some sort of training."

Rather than answer, the genius flashes Leonard a goofy smile. "I'm trained, all right." Then he gives Leonard a lazy once-over.

Leonard ignores it and gestures at the sink. "Hands."

The Captain lifts his hands, and Leonard pats them dry with the special soft cloth. It's delicate work. The spikes on the "armor" tend to break off, and if that’s the case here, he doesn't want to force them in any further than they already are. Sure enough, he can see the telltale glint of metal. "There's shrapnel in here," he sighs. "I've got the tweezers, but it's going to take some time."

For some reason, that makes the maniac smile. "I've got nothing but time, Doctor...?"

"McCoy," Leonard grumbles as he leads the captain to the kitchen table. "Leonard McCoy."

"Lived here long, Doc?"

"No."

"Got family around?"

"What is this, twenty questions? It's just me." Leonard hesitates. "And a roommate, so don't get any ideas."

He gets a thoughtful hum in response, which would be annoying if Leonard weren't getting out his tweezers to perform the exhausting task of picking out shrapnel without worsening the damage.

By the time he's done, there's blood all over and a sickening pile of metal scraps. "We finally get the damn things outlawed, but they decide not to enforce it for five years," he grouses. "Damn fools don't know what they're doing."

The Captain smiles. "You don't like politics?"

"I'm a doctor," Leonard replies. "I deal with enough pissing contests at work. I don't need some businessman who's never set foot in a hospital to tell me about how wide hallways have to be."

"I love politics. Running a country as big and divided as ours is pretty damn impressive, don't you think? And it was politics that got us Starfleet."

Leonard shudders. "Don't remind me."

The captain smiles. "Not a fan of space?"

"No," Leonard says shortly. He gave the spiel to the woman on the shuttle before he left Atlanta. Twice in one day is overkill, even for him. "Ordinarily I'd have something modern to give you for your hands, but it's best to let time do her thing when it comes to joints. Ointment, bandages, and care are what you'll need going forward." He grabs the tube of antibiotic ointment he brought with him. "Be gentle when you apply it. And-" he doesn't want to say this, but damned if he's got a choice, "-come back in a week or two so I can see how it's healing."

"Yes, sir."

"Other than the severe hero complex, anything else of yours need fixing?"

"Nah." The Captain shakes his head. "This was good, Leonard. Thank you."

"Excellent. You're all done. Now shoo. I've got to clean up the mess you made of my house."

It takes Leonard upwards of an hour to erase every trace of the blood, but in the end, he manages it and collapses, exhausted, on the nicest bed he's ever slept in.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"A doctor, Pike?" Jim asks, amused despite himself. He's sitting in the admiral’s office, playing with the edge of one of the bandages his new roommate wrapped around his hands. "If you're trying to be subtle, it isn't working."

Pike shakes his head. "Leonard McCoy is a hell of a doctor," he explains. "I don't know what the hell he's doing in Sausalito, but I figured it couldn't hurt to keep an eye on him."

"The guy's got a real chip on his shoulder. You sure know how to pick 'em, Admiral."

"I picked you, didn't I?"

Jim feels himself reach for his head, running his fingers over the raised skin of the scar behind his ear. Externally, almost all the sings of the damage are gone. It was a sound that knocked him out of the Academy, that killed his chance at following in his father's footsteps. Not a physical deformation.

"We both saw how that turned out, didn't we?" he asks, not entirely bitter but close.

"Jim..."

"No, I know. It wasn't my fault the damn training equipment was faulty and exploded."

Pike refuses to be drawn into an argument; it's one of his most frustrating qualities. "You saved three cadets that day, you know."

"I do know. You tell me every time this comes up."

"And I'll keep telling you until it gets through your thick skull: bad things happen. You can't change them. You just have to endure until you overcome."

"I'll tell the audiologist that, let her know I'm looking to overcome being deaf," Jim says.

"Half deaf," Pike corrects.

Jim rolls his eyes. "Hard of hearing."

Pike mirrors him. "Don't be a pedant."

"Don't try to teach me lessons using other people. It isn't fair."

"You looked up McCoy," Pike surmises.

Jim snorts. "It wasn't hard. It's not a common name- although, whoever came up with Horatio was a mean one. It's not as bad as Tiberius, sure, but it's bad." He leans back in his chair. "McCoy's a genius, Pike. He's been making history since his dissertation."

Leaning back in his chair, Pike nods thoughtfully. "He's an interesting man."

"Why the hell is he here?"

Pike quirks a brow. "I'm sure you read about the divorce."

"I was more interested in him almost losing his license for a familial assisted suicide."

"Which thankfully didn't happen. A doctor can weather controversy, Jim, but a man can only take so much heartbreak."

"You think he moved across an entire continent because his wife left him?"

"I think a certain type of man might need to escape his past rather than linger in it."

An old echo of anger tugs at Jim's chest, but he ignores it. "We've talked about this before, Admiral."

"Have we?" Pike leans forward. "Because I don't recall ever having a proper conversation about what it is you're doing. I remember you telling me what you were doing, me telling you it's a bad idea, and you doing it anyway." He stares at Jim for a moment, pale eyes eerily knowing, before he lets out a breath. "I want you to be safe, Jim. That's all."

Someday, Jim will stop looking to Pike for guidance and make peace with his father's absence. But that day is far from this one, and Jim is still uncomfortably pleased at having Pike's attention. The man never had kids of his own- maybe if he had, he wouldn't spend so much time fathering Jim. Or maybe he would be worse. For such a steady guy, Pike is prone to coloring outside the lines.

Sheltering the country’s most wanted vigilante, for example.

"We'll see how he does," Jim allows. "But if he hates it, I'm not going to force him to stay."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard is in the kitchen, making lunch, when the front door opens and a guy he's never seen before walks in. He's tall, about Leonard's height, with slicked-back blond hair and bright eyes. His clothes are nice, if disheveled, and the smile he turns on Leonard doesn't look forced.

"You must be McCoy," he says, holding out a hand as he approaches. "I'm Jim."

Leonard shakes the offered hand. "That's me. I got your letter."

"Oh, that." Jim scratches at the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure if I'd be back in time to welcome you or not. I'm a boxer," he clarifies, lifting his wrapped hands as proof. "I was up north for a few scrimmages. My manager sent me home early, said there wasn't any point after I knocked the best guy on his ass."

It's a brag. No humble about it, no false modesty, just a kid who's stupidly proud of himself for giving some fool brain damage. Leonard takes a deep breath, counts back from five, and almost manages a convincing, "That's impressive."

Jim, rather than letting the words flow over him, raises his brows. "You don't approve?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. Leonard shakes his head. "It's barbaric, but at least it's a consensual way of knocking out all the extra testosterone you have."

His words get a crooked smile. "You're a bit of a grouch, aren't you?"

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nah." Jim's smile evens out, widens into an almost comical grin. "I think we're going to get along great."

 

**_xx_ **

 

It takes Jim approximately one minute to get McCoy to open up. The man is angry and happy to share. It's refreshing, in a backwards sort of way. There's an honesty to McCoy that's missing in a lot of people. There’s an old world, salt of the earth feel to him.

He shares his flask, though, so Jim figures the man can't be too bitter.

"All I've got left is my bones, you know," McCoy sighs. "My wife took everything worth anything in the divorce."

Jim whistles, low and sharp, and Bones, as Jim is now calling him, nods his agreement.

"Hey."

Startled, Jim looks up from his accidental study of Bones' thick thighs. There's a new sharpness in Bones' eyes, and Jim can just feel the revelation of who he is coming. "Yeah?"

"How come your hands are still wrapped?"

Resolutely not letting out a sigh of relief, Jim shakes his head. "Went a few rounds bare knuckle," he lies easily. "They feel better wrapped up."

"That might not be a good thing," Bones says, frowning. "I should take a look."

"Nah, I got checked out already," Jim assures him. Then, because he can't help but tempt fate, he adds, "Even you would trust the guy's work."

"Yeah? What's his name?"

Shit. "Do you know, I didn't catch it? But I trust him, and so does my manager."

Bones visibly doesn't like that, but he doesn't press further, instead offering Jim another go on the flask. Jim accepts it happily- Bones has good taste in bourbon, even if it is early to be drinking- and they both sag a little harder against the breakfast bar, comfortable and buzzed already.

Somewhere in the back of Jim's mind, a voice is screaming at him to watch out for that, but it's hard to hear over how content he feels.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard, against all odds, actually likes his new roommate. Jim keeps odd hours courtesy of his profession, but so does Leonard. The clinic operates twenty-four hours a day, and stupidity keeps the same schedule. Leonard, by virtue of being the newest, works third shift, which usually coincides with the hours Jim spends at the gym.

Jim is also surprisingly tidy. He keeps his belongings in his room, which Leonard has been in exactly once. He cleans up messes right away and does the dishes without being asked. In a way, it's a bit like when Leonard and Joce were at their best. There's an easy rhythm to things. They both know what's expected of them, and they follow through.

And just like with his ex, things with Jim get complicated.

Leonard takes one look at Jim's crooked nose, the dried blood on his face, and rubs at his eyes. "Sit down in the kitchen," he orders.

"But, Bones-"

"I don't care. Go sit."

Jim, wonder of all wonders, actually listens. He trudged over to a chair and delicately takes a seat.

When Leonard returns with his tricorder, the results are obvious. "Broken nose, orbital fracture, two broken ribs, and shredded hands." He pauses. "What's a boxer doing fighting someone with body armor?"

"Just spicing things up- Ow!"

"That's your nose back into place," Leonard informs him as he picks up Jim’s hands, turning them in the light. "I'm not seeing any pieces of metal, so you must have gotten lucky."

"Nah, I pulled them out myself." At Leonard's disbelieving stare, Jim shrugs. "They were big, and I didn't want to worry you. I was actually hoping you'd be asleep since you just got off shift," he adds, as if that makes it better.

"Jim, I'm a doctor. It's my job to worry. It's something I've been doing for years; I'm quite good at it. Now, I don't know why, but I happen to like you, kid. Maybe not in this particular moment, but as a general rule, you're all right. So you can drop the act and let me take care of you."

The kid stares at him for a long moment, eyes wide. Then he runs his tongue over his cracked, swollen, blood-covered lips and nods. "Okay, Bones," he says softly. “I can do that.”

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one, but I appreciate you making the illusion."

After that, they lapse into silence. Leonard talks occasionally, letting Jim know what he's doing and what a moron Jim is for picking a career that involves this much spilled blood, but Jim sits in silence, eyes closed. He bears with Leonard's ministrations with unusual grace, even leans into the touch a few times.

"You should get your head checked out," Leonard grumbles at one point, which only serves to make Jim smile. "I mean that. I don't want you walking around with a TBI."

"They didn't hit me in the head," Jim murmurs, finally breaking his silence.

Leonard freezes. "They?"

"Had more'n one fight."

"Jesus Christ. You're coming to the clinic with me tomorrow, and we're gonna run a proper set of tests on you."

"I'm fine, Bones."

"No, you're not. But we'll talk about that later, after you've had a rest."

It’s a dismissal, and Jim takes it as such. After he cleans up, Leonard heads off to bed, too. He tries to pretend he's surprised when he wakes up and finds Jim gone.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Jim has a problem. Bones is rapidly becoming a bigger and bigger part of his life. Too rapidly. And he isn't even trying. He just does it by being there. He's like clockwork. Wake up, shower, eat, veg out, change, go to work, come home, sleep. Wake up, shower, eat, veg out... He doesn't go on dates. He doesn't bring friends home. He doesn't go to friends' homes. The only deviation in his schedule is whether he has to patch Jim up after "boxing".

Clearly Bones doesn't buy the excuse anymore, not after Jim came home with a concussion and one finger clutched in the palm of the other. But he isn't pushing. He just keeps watching Jim, waiting. Berating him when he comes home a mess without ever demanding an explanation.

And Jim... well, Jim likes that. He likes coming home to Bones. Likes walking into the living room and seeing Bones' shoes lined up by the door next to Jim’s. Likes hearing Bones grumble about the recklessness of the general population. Likes the way Bones holds him steady when Jim feels like he's going to fly out of his skin. Likes the way Bones' eyes sometimes follow him around or linger on him, no intent in them except to look.

He likes it a lot. Probably, judging by the state of his dreams and the amount of tissues he's been going through, too much.

What Bones doesn't know won't hurt him.

One day, though, Jim is going to slip up, and when he does, Bones will know, and while what Bones knows may hurt him, it's going to hurt Jim even more.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Jim is acting strange. He's a flighty type of guy already, always running off to do things he never describes beyond "fun" or "stuff", but lately he's been downright cagey. They'd had a good thing going for a while. Leonard would make lunch, they'd watch a film or two, and Jim would do the dishes. Then they'd head off to work. It had been nice, real comfortable and easy.

Then Jim started getting antsy. He's been spending less and less time at the house, and what little he does spend there, he spends in his room. Leonard has tried to corner him a few times, but the kid is damned slippery.

Maybe he's just getting old and set in his ways, but Leonard had been enjoying their routine. And Jim isn't bad company when he's not out of his head with a concussion. Or bleeding all over the sink. Or putting his feet in Leonard's lap.

He isn't hurt by Jim pulling away. No, Leonard endured a divorce; a friend putting some room between them is nothing. He can handle it.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Getting perspective on Bones is going great until Jaylah drops by unannounced. Jim is in his room, looking up what he can about a company in Silicon Valley profiting off illegal alien labor, when he hears a crash and, a moment later, Jaylah's voice shouting, "Where is Jim?"

Bones, whom Jim had left sleeping shirtless on the couch, lets out a loud, "What the hell!"

"You are not Jim," Jaylah is saying when Jim pokes his head out. "There is Jim!"

"Hey, Jaylah," Jim calls, trying not to sound concerned. "Why don't you come in?"

"I am already in."

"Into my room," Jim adds rather than point out he was being sarcastic.

Jaylah nods quickly and makes her way happily past a scowling Bones. Jim makes an "I'm sorry about my friend" motion at him, which only serves to make Bones shake his head. He doesn't ask after Jaylah, though, just sits back down and grabs his PADD.

Whipping around and- _carefully_ \- shutting the door, Jim turns toward Jaylah. "What are you doing here?" he hisses. "We have an agreement!"

"You were not answering, and Montgomery Scotty said he found something."

Belatedly, Jim recalls his crushed device after last week's eventful night. Bones had a lot to say about broken toes.

"What did he find?"

Jaylah gives him a sharp look. "Nero."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Despite what his ex-wife might say, Leonard is not, in fact, an idiot. He knows there's something up with this Jaylah girl who keeps coming and going at all hours. He knows Jim is caught up in something bad. And he knows, in that horrible place where his gut knows awful things, that whatever is going on with Jim, Leonard will get dragged into it. It's only a matter of time.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Jim is doing reconnaissance on a building they think is being used to smuggle things for Nero when he gets stabbed. It's stupid, really. He's dangling from a roof, his arms stretched above his head and his armor riding up, and that's how the goon who walks by the window gets in a lucky shot. Jim loses his grip and falls to the ground. He lands in an alleyway, which is good, but even better is the dumpster at the far end. Holding his gut together with one hand and bracing against the building with the other, Jim stumbles his way to the dumpster and, with a single fortifying breath, heaves himself in. He sinks into the putrid smelling garbage, letting it cover him, and listens to the sounds of Nero's men running past.

"I know I got him!" says a voice. "I know I did!"

"We'll find him," says another.

They move on quickly, but Jim counts down a long two minutes before he gets his phone out and dials Bones' number. It rings and it rings and it rings until finally-

"McCoy."

"Hello, Doc," Jim says, putting as much of the Captain's swagger into his tone as possible. "Any chance you've got a minute?"

"Who the hell is this?"

"Aw, don't tell me you forgot me already. I was your first houseguest."

Bones goes quiet for a moment before he lets out a sigh. "Where are you?"

Jim gives him the directions, but as he goes to hang up, Bones says, "Stay on the line. If you're calling me, it must be bad. So I'm going to need to know if and when you pass out."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"You talk until I get to you," comes the sour reply.

"What would you like me to discuss?" Jim asks, feeling inexplicably comfortable.

"How about why the hell you put on spandex and get into fights?"

It's obviously just Bones being a grouch, but Jim is feeling like sharing tonight. There's something reassuring about not having to see Bones, about having the mask separating them, that makes him feel almost safe when he says, "They killed my dad."

There's a silence on the line, which only gets broken by a muttered, "Well, shit."

"My dad was a hero," Jim tells the sky. "He saved an entire ship by getting them the hell out of Romulan territory. One night, he's walking down the street on his way home and somebody shoots him. Just shoots him right in the chest and leaves him on the ground to die." Over the line, he hears the splutter of Bones' aging car coming to life. "I'm not crazy."

"Didn't say you were."

There's something sharp digging into Jim's back, but he doesn't dare move. "You were thinking it, though."

"Sue me," Bones says easily. "I've got about a hundred credits to my name right now."

"You're practically rolling in it."

Bones huffs something like a laugh. "You gonna tell me what I should brace myself for, or do I get to be surprised?"

"Belly wound."

"God damn it!"

Jim feels himself smile. Belly wounds are one of the worst kinds of wounds. Even with hundreds of years of medical progress, there still isn't much that can be done if the junk in the intestines spills out and poisons the other systems.

All he can think about is it's nice to have someone who cares about him dying, even if Bones doesn't know it's him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Belly wounds are disgusting. There's no two ways about it. They are, without a doubt, the most abhorrent wounds Leonard has had to treat.

Having to fish his patient out of a dumpster does nothing to improve his outlook on them.

"Hey, Doc," Captain slurs when Leonard carefully arranges him in the back seat. "You're kinda hot. Did you know that?"

"And shock is setting in. Wonderful." Leonard shakes his head. "You should go to a hospital-"

"No hospitals."

"This is dicey work. You need a proper team, not just me and a glorified hot glue gun."

"Too bad." The Captain lifts a bloodied hand and waves it at him. "You'll be enough."

There's a sentiment Leonard hasn't heard in a while. The Captain- Lord help him, but there's no better way to address the man- isn't the most reliable of sources, but Leonard isn't feeling picky at the moment.

By the time they get to the house- and yeah, Leonard is suddenly immensely grateful that Jim isn't here- the Captain is delirious and the back of Leonard's car probably looks like the set on a particularly gruesome cop show.

"Up you get," he says as he picks the fool man up and carries him inside.

"You're real pretty," comes the slurred reply.

Leonard rolls his eyes and sets the Captain down on the table. Then he rushes back to the car, grabs his bag, and runs back inside.

"This is going to hurt," he warns.

The Captain gives him a weak shrug. "I'm good with pain."

Leonard seriously doubts the man is used to the kind of pain that is cleaning up a belly wound, but he squares his shoulders and grabs his tools anyway. It's not as if he has an alternative.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Jim wakes up lying supine on the kitchen table. His gut feels like it has its own heartbeat, but when he looks down, his skin is shut with only a pink, hairless slash of skin to show for almost dying. When he sits up, his head swims, and he has to stop and breathe for a long moment before things settle back into place.

It isn't until he's sliding off the edge of the table that he spots Bones. His friend is sitting on the floor a few feet away, his back against the cabinets, his head tilted forward at an angle that makes Jim wince in sympathy. His bag is on his lap, arms wrapped protectively around it.

Jim watches him breathe for a while, feeling oddly soothed by the sight of Bones' chest moving with his breath. Reality sinks in quickly, however, and Jim knows he can't risk being caught out in the Captain’s suit.

He sneaks back to his room as quickly and as quietly as he can. He doesn't even shut the door all the way for fear the sound might alert Bones. Peeling off his ruined costume takes more strength than he has, but he manages to wriggle out of it with the help of a coat hanger and his chair. That done, he moves onto getting dressed- just boxers and a long, loose tee. He doesn't have the energy for anything else, and besides, he's meant to look like he's been sleeping. It's just in case Bones wakes up as Jim is making his way to the shower, but it's better safe than sorry.

The real issue is the ruined costume. Obviously it has to go into the garbage bin outside, but Jim needs to get it there now, before Bones wakes up.

He folds it up discreetly, then heads for the door. On his way there, though, he's interrupted by a quiet, "Good mornin'."

Jim freezes. "Hey, Bones. What's up? The floor doesn't look that comfortable."

"Emergency surgery," Bones replies. "My patient didn't stick around for aftercare instructions, though."

"Was it important?" Jim asks carefully.

"For a belly wound?" Bones grunts as he drags himself to his feet. Wincing, he rolls his neck. "I'd say so, yeah."

 _Shit._ "What sort of care is there?"

"No physical activity for two months. Bed rest- the 24/7 couch potato kind. No complex foods. No sex."

"No sex?"

"It strains the abdomen," Bones explains as he comes around the stove. "You'd be surprised at how many geniuses don't put two and two together on that one." He pauses, face pinching. "What are you holding?"

"What, this?" Jim pastes a smile on his face and twists to open the washing machine door. "Last night's laundry. I didn't get much sleep, if you know what I mean."

Bones raises his hands, palms out. "Spare me."

"You know, that's an awful lot like what she said."

"That sounds more like a complaint than praise." Bones frowns, visibly deliberating something. "You sure you're all right, kid? You look like hell."

"Just feeling a little under the weather," Jim says. "I could use some R and R right about now."

"I could make breakfast if you want."

Bones' earlier words echo in Jim's mind. "How about smoothies?" he suggests, and Bones nods. "Awesome. You're the best roommate ever, Bones."

"Put some goddam pants on," Bones grumbles.

Jim gives him a sloppy salute and turns away, already deciding what movie they're going to watch.

 

**_xx_ **

 

As quickly as Jim's strange outings began, they stop. The day after the Captain's emergency surgery, Jim suddenly rediscovers his love of lying on the couch and sticking his feet in Leonard's lap. It's all he seems to do, in fact.

"I'm taking a break from boxing," he explains when Leonard questions his constant presence. "I thought you'd approve."

Leonard does approve, but he isn't about to give Jim the satisfaction of hearing that. "I've got to cover another doctor's shift, so I won't be home for a while. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes, Bones," Jim says dutifully.

Leonard instinctively doesn't trust it.

 

**_xx_ **

 

_Bones is warm in the morning. He's slow without coffee, and his accent is even rounder than it is when he's been drinking. He crowds Jim up against the counter, pressing in close so they're pressed together from ass to shoulder. He's hard; Jim can feel it against his back. But Bones makes no move to do anything about it. He just hooks his chin over Jim's shoulder and rumbles, "What's for breakfast?"_

_Jim doesn't know. He can't think with Bones's breath on his neck._

_Bones rolls his hips, puts a hand low on Jim's belly. He runs his thumb over the scar from the stabbing. "Don't tell me you're not hungry."_

_Jim shakes his head, and Bones chuckles._

_"So," he continues, rolling his hips again, "what are you in the mood for? Pancakes? Toast? Maybe some cereal?"_

_"This is a nice dream," Jim says, tilting his head so Bones can press a kiss below his jaw. "I like this one."_

_"Not a dream, darlin'," Bones purrs._

_"Yeah, it is. But that’s all right. A man’s gotta dream."_

_Bones' hand drops lower, his fist closing around Jim's dick, and yeah, this is a real nice dream. Jim bites his lip and pushes his hips back into Bones. The feel of the hard line of Bones' cock pressed up against him makes his breath hitch; behind him, Bones lets out a low moan that goes right to Jim's dick._

_"You're perfect for me," Bones says in Jim's ear, voice soft. "You want me to fuck you?"_

_Jim nods._

_"I wanna hear you say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you."_

_Throat dry, all Jim can do is nod._

_"You gotta say it, Jim," Bones scolds. He noses at Jim's ear, gives his dick a teasing stroke. "Gotta let me know what you want."_

_"You," Jim croaks. "I want you."_

_"Want me how?"_

_"Want you to fuck me."_

_Bones hums happily and tugs Jim's pants down his hips. "I think I can manage that." He twists to draw Jim into a heated kiss, his fingers tracing an abstract pattern on Jim's hips. His stubble rasps against Jim's face, and it's all Jim can do to stay standing._

_"Ready?"_

_Bones moves away, but he comes back, circling around in front of Jim to-_

"-up!"

Jim startles awake with a gasp, nearly sending Bones flying. For once, his friend doesn't complain, merely leans forward and touches the back of his hand to Jim's forehead.

"You don't feel feverish," he says, as if Jim is supposed to know what that means.

"Something wrong?" Jim asks, voice tight. His knees are bent, keeping the sheet tented high, and that's the only thing keeping Bones from knowing he's hard.

Bones cocks his head. "You were moaning and thrashing around. I wanted to make sure you weren't gonna kill yourself."

"No danger of that," Jim assures him. His face feels like it's on fire. Bones has the look in his eye that says he knows all your secrets, and the reminder just makes Jim flush harder.

As good as the dream was, though, it's got nothing on having the real Bones squinting at him from two inches away. If he dared, Jim could easily reach out and put his hand on Bones' leg. And do what, he doesn't know. His fingers just itch to touch, to hold. Jim clenches them into fists. "Just a dream, Bones."

"That was some dream."

Jim manages a wan smile. "You're telling me."

It takes another minute of squinting, but in the end, Bones nods to himself and pulls away. "All right, then. I've got some laundry to do. You got any whites need bleaching?" Jim shakes his head, and Bones gets to his feet. "It's early yet, but I figure pancakes can't hurt."

Jim's gut clenches sharply. "Could I talk you into another smoothie instead?"

"You on another health kick?" Bones asks, suspicion clear in his face. "There's eating well and there's having an issue. I know you're a boxer and y'all need to watch your weight-"

"You make good smoothies, man. Take the compliment."

Bones snorts. "Sure thing, kid. Give me ten."

"I'm not waiting a second longer."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Bones says, and for a moment, Jim's heart freezes in his chest. But Bones is rolling his eyes and walking away.

Jim lets out a harsh breath and lies back on the pillows. Bones left the door open, so Jim can hear him clearly as he putters around his room, gathering his laundry. The washing machine's door squeaks as Bones opens it, and-

Jim never finished throwing out his costume. He jumps to his feet and rushes out just in time to hear Bones ask, "What the hell?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard's blood is boiling, but he's got a bigger issue at hand. "Lift your shirt," he orders.

Jim blinks at him stupidly. "What?"

"Lift. Your. Shirt."

"I don't think-"

"Now, Jim."

Jim looks like a kicked dog the way he deflates and peers at Leonard with raised shoulders and big eyes. Leonard isn't moved, and after a moment, Jim complies.

Leonard's handiwork is clear, but he reaches out and touches a finger to the scar anyway. If he had taken Jim to a hospital, they could have stitched him up nicely, with a much smaller scar. This one will never fully fade.

It strikes him that if Leonard hadn't answered his phone, if he'd been slower to respond, if he were a poorer surgeon, Jim would have died.

"You're an idiot," he says quietly. "You're a stupid goddam son of a bitch."

"Bones..."

"I'm going to go lie down," Leonard says, summoning up his anger, "and you are going to do whatever it is you do. Out here. Quietly."

"Bones, come on. I didn't mean to-"

"To what, Jim? Put me in a position where I might feel guilty for my best friend's death? Lie to me? Put me in danger, because Christ only knows how many of the thugs you've pissed off might want payback and not care where they get it?" Leonard forces himself to stop. "I need some time to myself."

Jim nods and steps aside, letting Leonard pass without further protest.

For the first time since he got to the house, Leonard locks the door behind himself.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The first thing Jim does is call Pike.

"Jim? What's going on?"

"He knows," Jim blurts. "Bones knows about me."

The line is quiet for a long moment before Pike says, “Damn."

"What do I do?"

"What's he doing?"

"He locked himself in his room," Jim says. "I don't think he'll be coming out any time soon."

"When's the last time he ate?"

Jim frowns, thinking back. "Before shift last night."

"Then it should only be a few hours."

"You don't know Bones," Jim says, fighting a wave of nausea. If Bones sets his mind to it, he might well die in that room. "He had to patch me up, Pike. I got hit at Nero's warehouse, and it was bad. I had to call him."

"But you're all right now?"

Jim nods. "He's a damn good doctor, Admiral."

"Then sit back and let him work it out on his own for a while," Pike suggests. "But give him space, Jim. From everything you've told me about him, McCoy's going to react emotionally first, logically second."

"Yeah," Jim agrees. "I'll update you if something changes."

Pike's expression softens. "He'll come around, Jim. They always do."

Jim manages a weak smile. "I'm sure you're right."

 

**_xx_ **

 

It takes Leonard two hours to decide he isn't going to wring Jim's neck and a further half hour to accept that that isn't a bad thing.

When he leaves his room, he finds Jim sitting up on the couch. The kid gives him a tentative smile.

Leonard sighs. "I'm not sure I would've believed you if you'd told me you were dressing up and playing Superman, so I figure I can't be too pissed that you didn't say anything. And the house is still standing, which must mean you're being careful about some things, if not your life."

Jim brightens immediately. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"I think I'd rather take a nap," Leonard says, just because he's still feeling tetchy.

Jim deflates. "Okay. Can I watch one?"

"Do what you want, kid."

Leonard ends up watching the movie. Jim's cold feet are in his lap, there's a half-eaten bowl of Jell-O on the low table in front of the couch, and there's a strange sense of everything being all right. His closest friend is the most wanted vigilante in the country. But it's all right.

Leonard falls asleep on the couch, so he misses the way Jim's face goes soft as he tucks a blanket around him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The funny thing about Bones is he doesn't actually carry any grudges. He'll be indignant about something for ages, and he rarely lets things go. But he doesn't let the anger ossify. It just sits on his skin like oil on water, rolls off him when he decides it doesn't matter.

He's a mess of a man, but Jim has never met a better one.

So when they're just hanging out on the couch one day, Jim comes out and says, "I can't hear."

"Then turn up the volume," Bones replies and turns the page of his book.

"I don't mean the TV."

That gets Bones' attention. His gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing. "You must have damn good hearing aids."

"Hearing aid. And yeah. Top of the line. It was the least Starfleet could do, apparently, after they got my skull blown to shit."

"Let me see." Bones isn't asking; he's got his doctor face on. Jim dutifully scoots closer and turns his head so Bones can touch.

His fingers are perfectly smooth. They glide easily over Jim's skull, pushing his hair aside so he can feel where the Starfleet surgeon tried to patch Jim up.

"Clumsy," Bones says after a moment. “The angle’s wrong.”

Starfleet implied the same, but it never came out and said it. Never looked Jim square in the eyes and said there was a mistake. Never apologized for killing his dream without a second thought.

"It's been years," Jim says lamely. "I hear better now than I did before."

"But you can't fly. They don't let disabled personnel leave the planet." Jim nods, and Bones shakes his head. His hand is still in Jim's hair, fingers massaging the base of his skull. "So you really did try to follow in your dad's footsteps."

Jim nods again. He hesitates, debating the wisdom of this particular revelation, before plunging ahead. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Look up George Kirk."

Bones' face says he doesn't like being bossed around, but he looks the name up anyway. Jim can see the moment when Bones puts the pieces together.

"Well that explains a lot," he says simply, setting his device down. Jim feels his brows creep up his forehead, but Bones isn't done. "If I had your thick skull, I suppose I'd go after the bastards who killed my dad, too."

"Hey,” Jim protests. “I'm bearing my soul, here."

The look on Bones' face is a new one. It's soft and warm, and damned if it doesn't make Jim wonder if Bones' kisses are sweet or rough. "And I'm telling you, kids are supposed to outlive their parents, not go chasing them into the afterlife." He lifts his other hand and uses it to take hold of Jim's chin. "There's a lot to live for, you know."

Then he's shaking his head and pulling away, turning up the volume on the TV, and Jim is left leaning in like an idiot, eyes half-shut, remembering how warm Bones' hands were.

 

**_xx_ **

 

If he's honest- which he tries to be- Leonard will admit he feels more than just friendship for Jim. He's always aware of Jim, can feel him wherever he is in the house. His heart speeds up when he sees Jim. His hands itch to reach out and take hold of him.

His heart can't take another beating, though. Not from Jim. So Leonard sucks it up and sits on his itchy fingers and tries not to think too hard about the way Jim leans against him when he's tired.

It isn't a great strategy, but it's working so far.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The moment Bones clears him, Jim heads back out onto the streets. All his ins with Nero have dried up; after catching Jim sneaking around, the bastard has gone to ground. Jim can rebuild, though. And this time, he'll have Bones at his back.

"This is absurd," Bones grumbles as he runs his tricorder over Jim a week later. "It's like you want to get hurt." He puts the device away and moves on to examining Jim's bruised face, his hands on Jim's jaw, moving his face this way and that.

Jim rolls his eyes. The pain makes it easier to bear Bones' touch without making an idiot of himself, but his heart is still beating double time. "Better me than someone else," he points out.

"Is it?" Bones asks. He sounds suddenly exhausted, and his hands slip off Jim's face as he folds his arms across his chest.

The answer is obvious. "Of course."

Bones sighs. "Why do I bother? Go wash up. I'll take care of breakfast."

Jim gets to his feet and walks to the bathroom with more care than usual, Bones' sharp eyes heavy on him the whole way. He doesn't want to shower. He doesn't even want to eat. He just wants to lie down, preferably with Bones, and sleep. But he and Bones don't do that sort of thing, so Jim takes a little longer in the shower than he needs to curl a soapy hand around his dick and get himself off. It’s a poor substitute, but it’s what he’s got.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Jim keeps going out at night, tracking down Nero and other thugs, and Leonard keeps cleaning him up after they inevitably kick the shit out of him. It isn't a good situation, but it isn't entirely bad either. At least this way Leonard can be sure Jim is being treated by someone competent, not some overworked intern in an underfunded hospital. There haven't been any serious injuries since Jim caught that knife with his gut- which Jim swears has never happened before- and for the moment, Leonard is willing to accept things as they are.

If he spends a little longer in the shower, or catches himself watching Jim just to watch him, well, Leonard is only a man.

 

**_xx_ **

 

When Jim was little, his mother constantly told him to be patient. His teachers in school said the same, as did his instructors at the Academy. Pike has commented on his impatience, as has Bones. Jim would love to follow their lead and sit back and wait, but it just isn't in his nature. When he wants something, he goes after it. People. Cars. The expedited command track. Nero.

So it grates that he can't do anything but watch as Bones potters around their house in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. The AC is on, has been all day, and Bones, it turns out, isn't good with the cold.

"I'm from Georgia," he groused when Jim questioned the day’s sartorial choice. "I can handle heat just fine. It's this damned cold that's the problem."

Jim did offer to turn it down, but Bones just huffed and swaddled himself up in a blanket.

He's wrapped up in one now, too, glaring at the woman flogging shit on QVC like she just told him her concussion is no big deal. The sight makes Jim's chest ache, so he's been staring unseeing at the woman. He hasn't heard any of the words she's said in the past five minutes, too busy thinking about his knee brushing Bones', but he's been watching.

"Why don't they ever sell anything good?" Bones asks.

"What, you don't want to buy TV cologne?"

"No," Bones says flatly. "And don't even think about buying any for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Jim absolutely would dream of it, but he happens to like the smell of Bones' old fashioned aftershave just fine. "Maybe one of the doctors you work with would like some."

Bones tilts his head, considering. "Nurse Chapel might."

"Who?"

"I've told you about Christine, haven't I?" Jim shakes his head, and Bones purses his lips. "She's the head nurse at the clinic during my shift. Tough lady, climbed up the ranks with tooth and claw. She even keeps Dr. Katz in line."

Jim's chest feels suddenly too tight, but he manages a light, "You buy all your nurses perfume?"

"It was cologne, and no. Only the ones who have to fend off advances from damn near every patient and a number of doctors."

"You like her."

"I respect her."

"You should ask her out." Jim bites his tongue as soon as he says it. Bones' romantic life- or lack of it- is a touchy subject that usually sees his friend storm off and sulk.

But not this time. No, Bones just shakes his head, his lips quirking into a crooked smile. "Don't think she's got much use for an old, broken down dog like me," he says. Then he's shedding his blanket and collecting the lunch dishes. "I better wash up. Lord knows you'll just leave them there forever."

Jim would not, in fact, leave the dishes where they were, as Bones well knows. The tension in his spine is obvious, his shoulders inching up toward his ears as he walks to the kitchen.

At least he didn't snap, Jim thinks. He feels bereft without Bones next to him, but it's clear from Bones' posture that he's going to be a while.

"Mind if I change the channel?" Jim calls.

"Go ahead," Bones replies over the sound of dishes clattering in the sink.

If he closes his eyes, Jim could almost pretend things are more than what they are. That Bones is washing the dishes because it's his turn. That he'll come back and sit down next to Jim like he always does. That Jim will be able to put his arm around Bones and tug him close.

Jim keeps his eyes open.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Working at the clinic is a special kind of hell. He doesn't have too many cases that are challenging or require emergency action. He also rarely sees the same person twice. It's the opposite of the place where he worked in Atlanta. There, he got to know the regulars, was constantly on his toes in preparation for the next potentially fatal case.

There is one unexpected upside, one challenge Leonard didn't have back home- aliens. Because of its proximity to Starfleet, a lot of aliens pass through the city, so Leonard gets puts through his xenobiology paces most days. The majority are simple fixes, but every once in a while he will get a complex case.

A Romulan complaining of what sounds like Andorian shingles, for example.

Given the tense relationship between their planets, Leonard is surprised there are any Romulans on earth, but that's what the chart for today's patient says.

He opens the door to the exam room with his nose still in the notes. By the time he looks up, it's too late. A bag drops down on his head. It catches him so far off-guard he doesn't even think to yell, not that he would have time. He feels a pinch in his neck, and a moment later, he feels himself fall.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Bones is late. It's been two hours since he was due home, he didn't tell Jim he was going to be late, and Jim has a horrible feeling. He got close to Nero last week, close enough to copy part of a hard drive. He had to resort to using the computer at the library for the hack- there was no way he could break in again with Nero's security beefed up even further than it was last time- but he got something. It isn't enough to nail him, not even close, but it's got shipping manifestos on it, which could prove useful.

All of that runs through his head as he paces around the living room, waiting for Bones to get back.

By noon, Jim knows something bad happened.

He gets the call half an hour later.

"We have your friend," says a voice he doesn't know. "Meet us at the docks, container number five seven nine one. Come alone or he dies."

The line goes dead, then, leaving him no time to argue or delay.

 

**_xx_ **

 

They hit him. Over and over again, for no reason except to cause pain. Which they manage. Leonard has never been one for getting in brawls; this experience is doing nothing to make him consider changing that outlook. Although, maybe if he'd gotten his clock cleaned more, he would know how to brace himself against the impact.

If he gets out of this, he's going to murder Jim.

 

**_xx_ **

 

_Bones is going to kill me._

Jim tells himself this over and over as he makes the drive to the docks. Bones is going to be pissed, and he's going to rip into Jim when this is over. He's going to be insufferable. Jim will have to be on his best behavior for months. And Bones will still find things to complain about.

The thought of Bones back in their house, walking around in his ratty sweats and singing loudly in shower is all that keeps Jim from shaking out of his skin. This is crunch time. Bones' future is in his hands, and Jim is going to get him out safe.

He is.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard has a broken nose. This is the least, if messiest, of his injuries.

If he gets out of this, he's going to kiss Jim.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Nero himself is waiting for Jim in the container. There are five guards between him and Bones, all with phasers out. They all have bloody knuckles, and Bones-

Jim swallows back a rush of bile. Bones is still breathing. Loudly. Raggedly. But he's breathing. He's chained to a chair at the opposite end of the container, but he's alive.

It's his voice that rasps, "Why the hell are you wearing the fucking costume?"

Jim ignores him. "What do you want, Nero?"

"What do you think?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have asked."

Nero shifts unhappily, crossing his arms. "You're a lot like your father."

Jim's heart stutters in his chest. "Come again?"

"Didn't you know?" Nero's mouth twists into a mocking smile. "Your father tried to bring me down, too. It didn't work out well for him, though, as you know."

"You had him killed," Jim breathes, realization crashing over him.

Nero nods. "Starfleet may have managed to force me out of space, but to think it could stop me completely... Absurd. I will have vengeance for my planet, Kirk. One way or another."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You couldn't figure it out? Oh, Jim. It means that while I may lack a ship, I can still build a replica drill. The strength will be less, given I'll have to shrink it, but it will be powerful enough to take out Starfleet- and Spock."

"Spock?" Jim frowns, thinking back to the stern, pointy-eared bastard who ran the Kobayashi Maru. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Everything." Nero gets to his feet. "I think the time for talking has passed. The drill ought to be getting into position any moment now, and I don't intend to miss the destruction." He walks to the door behind him but pauses in the doorway and turns to the guards. "Get rid of them." Then he disappears.

The guards raise their phasers, and Jim reaches behind him for his own.

"You really don't wanna do this, fellas," he warns. "Just lower your weapons and leave."

They fire anyway, and Jim sighs as the beams disperse harmlessly against his chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't come prepared?" He tsks, frees his own phaser, and fires back.

The guards drop one by one. They don't get up.

Jim hurried over to Bones.

"Hey, Bones," he says tentatively.

Bones narrows the eye not swollen shut. "Get me out of here."

"Sure thing."

The chains don't come off easily, and Jim winds up having to shoot Bones free. Bones doesn't comment, just flexes his wrists and ankles when Jim frees them.

"I don't think I can walk."

Jim nods and holds out a hand. "Lean on me."

Bones does. He lets Jim hoist him to his feet, leans in heavily when Jim puts his arm around him.

They walk away slowly. Blood keeps dribbling down Bones' face and dripping off his chin. His good eye is half-shut as if even keeping it open is too much. He sighs when Jim eases him into the front seat and spends a long minute sitting with his legs on the ground, shoulder against the back of the seat before he twists himself the rest of the way inside.

Jim gets in and drives them to the clinic in silence.

The nurse who meets them at the door has a name tag that says Chapel, and when she sees Bones, she lets out a soft, "Leonard?"

Not Dr. McCoy. Not even McCoy.

Jim has never heard anyone use Bones' given name, and it takes him a moment to remember how to let go when Chapel waves two other nurses to come over and take Bones away.

"Are you injured?" Chapel asks after they disappear. Her voice is odd, as if she isn't certain she should be speaking.

That's when Jim realizes he's still wearing the Captain's getup.

"I'm fine," he says quickly. "Just focus on that man."

Chapel nods. "He's in good hands."

Jim doesn't doubt that, and he leaves without engaging further. The problem, he thinks as he makes his way to Bones' car, is Bones should be in the best hands. Only Bones is the best hands, and even he can't treat himself.

The ride home is long, but it's nothing compared to the wait for Bones to return.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"You took my car."

It's not the best opening gambit, but it gets Jim's attention.

"You took my car," Leonard repeats when Jim fails to reply. "I had to get a ride home from Christine."

Jim blinks. "Oops."

Leonard shakes his head and sits down on the couch next to Jim. "You look like shit."

"You're the one who got beaten up."

"You're the one who watched the guy who got your dad killed walk away."

"Not exactly."

Leonard turns to look at Jim squarely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I called Starfleet before I left. Wired myself up, relayed everything to them." Jim shrugs. "Turns out, they were already suspicious, so they were ready to act before Nero could do anything."

"That was unusually well thought out of you," Leonard says. Leaning forward, he pats Jim's thigh. "Your daddy would be proud."

Jim shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"You saved the day, Jim. What's not to be proud of?"

"I almost got you killed."

He has a point, but Leonard isn't in the mood to dwell. "You got me out, though. Drove me to the clinic. You could've called 911 and not thrown the city into a tizzee over the Captain making a daytime appearance."

Jim flushes. "I didn't think about that."

"I know you didn't. You were too busy saving me." He leans a little more weight on the hand clasped around Jim's thigh. "That's how I know you'd make any decent man proud."

Jim's eyes drop, the flick back up to meet Leonard's. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Rather than answer, Leonard raises his free hand to the side of Jim's face and kisses him first.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Kissing Bones is incredible. Jim could do it all day, all week. All year. Bones has soft lips and rough stubble. His chest is firm under Jim's hands, his hands wide where they're resting on Jim's hips.

At some point, Jim must have climbed into Bones' lap, but he doesn't remember doing it. His mind is too busy cataloging the way Bones tastes, the way he smells without aftershave, the soft sounds he makes when Jim kisses him.

"I wanna fuck you," Jim breathes against his lips, and Bones nods quickly. His eyes have gone dark, and Jim has to kiss him again.

One of Bones' hands moves lower, grabbing a handful of Jim's ass, and Jim damn near spills in his pants.

"Bed," he orders. "Now."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine."

As much as Jim wants to fuck in Bones' bed, this time has to be in his. Bones must sense that, because he doesn't fuss, simply lets Jim tow him to his bedroom.

They collapse onto Jim's bed on their sides, and Jim quickly throws his leg over Bones' hip. He can feel the hard line of Bones' cock through his scrubs, Jim's own thin sweats doing little to keep them apart.

"Wanted this for so long," he pants, dropping a hand to Bones' belly. He slides it under the top of Bones' scrubs, lets his eyes fall shut as he slowly runs his hand up to Bones' chest, fingers carding through the trail of wiry hair. "God, Bones."

"Me, too," Bones murmurs. He tilts his head for another kiss. "You were driving me crazy."

"You have no idea."

Jim pushes on Bones' hip, and Bones turns over into his back, tugging Jim up as he does.

"I don't think I'll last long," Jim admits quietly, and Bones moans.

"Have mercy, Jim."

Jim shakes his head. He tugs on the hem of Bones' scrubs, lifting the shirt up and off. He can't help but reach for one of Bones' nipples and thumb at it.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Sensitive?"

Bones glares at him but shimmies out of his pants instead of answering.

Jim sits back on his heels and watches, rapt, as Bones' dick finally springs free. He dips his head licks the tip, earning himself a string of curses from Bones. So he does it again, runs the tip of his tongue along the crown.

Bones is breathing hard now, and his voice is demanding as he says, "You, clothes off now."

Jim smiles. "Yes, Doctor."

Bones smacks him lightly on the head. "Don't ruin this."

Jim has no plans to ruin anything today. He tugs his shirt over his head and shoves his pants down as fast as he can.  Then he's back lying on top of Bones. This time, though, when he moves his hips, he can feel the hot drag of his cock along Bones', and when Bones brushes a finger over Jim's hole, it sends a shudder of pleasure through him.

"I don't want to wait," he says against Bones' lips. He bends his head for another kiss, and when it ends, he revises, "Can't wait."

Bones nods and reaches for Jim's nightstand. There's a bottle of lotion there, the same brand Bones uses. That isn't lost on Bones.

"I was already jacking off to you," Jim grumbles. "The smell just helped things."

Grinning, Bones tugs him down for a long, hot kiss. "I'm not going to pretend I don't find that kind of hot," he says when they part. "But damn it, Jim. That takes a lot of thought."

Jim shrugs. "I think about you a lot."

He gets another kiss for that, which isn't exactly discouraging. Bones doesn't break the kiss as he pumps the lotion into his hand. He gives himself a slow pull before he wraps his hand around the base of Jim's cock and slicks him up.

Jim lets out a loud moan, pushes his hips into the circle of Bones' hand, and Bones huffs a laugh against his lips. He doesn't tease, though, for which Jim is grateful. He's barely holding it together; he feels like he might fly out of his skin at any minute.

"Hey," Bones says, voice soft, and Jim opens his eyes. "I'm with you. Don't go where I can't follow."

Typical Bones. Jim nods and puts his hand over Bones'. Bones gets the idea quickly and starts stroking Jim quickly, his grip tight. Jim always figured Bones would be a slow lover, but right now, in Jim's bed, Bones isn't trying to draw things out.

"Fuck, Jim," he breathes. "Look at you."

Jim does, but all he sees are Bones' fingers moving up and down his shaft. "Feels good," he says, almost without realizing.

Bones grins up at him and doesn't stop grinning until Jim comes, painting Bones' chest, and tips over onto his side.

Expression turning pensive, Bones runs a finger through the mess, then pops it in his mouth. Jim's watches, mesmerized, as his dick makes a valiant attempt at getting hard again. 

"Jesus, Bones."

Bones just smiles blandly at him and reaches down to take himself in hand. Jim lifts a hand to help but winds up grasping at Bones' hip instead.

Good enough, he decides. Bones puts his free hand over Jim's, his eyes drawn down to where Jim's face is, as he roughly jerks himself. Jim watches lazily, feeling hungry and dated at once. He's tired and warm, but he wants to see Bones finish, wants to know what face he makes. It's imperative that he see it.

And he does. It doesn't take Bones long before his breath hitches and he adds to the mess on his chest.

Jim heaves himself closer so he can give one of the splatters a curious lick, and Bones moans.

"Tell me you aren't ready to go again already."

Jim shakes his head. "Nap time, Bones. Round two later."

The nap lasts three hours, and instead of round two, they end up sitting together on the couch, eating cereal.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Leonard takes a deep breath. "You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

Jim gives him a pathetic smile that only highlights the gruesome angle of his nose.

"Who did you start a fight with this time?"

Jim launches into a long-winded explanation of San Francisco gangs and turf wars that Leonard immediately tunes out in favor of leading Jim to their bedroom and sitting him down on the bed. There's a lot to patch up this time.

Leonard hates seeing Jim hurt, but he can tell from Jim's smile that he managed to do some good this time. Leonard wouldn't deny Jim that chance for the world, even if he does think the costume is absurd.

“All right,” he says, reaching for his bag. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write anything with a coherent plot?


End file.
